


It Was All Very English

by Fanhag102



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, random little ficlet because I love these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanhag102/pseuds/Fanhag102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short little fictlet with no real point, I suppose. I just wanted to write about Vastra and Jenny and this idea popped into my head. Hope you like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was All Very English

The night was bleak, cold, and wet—the perfect night to sit by the fireside drinking tea and reading a good book. The streets were empty due to the weather and the news that was floating around about a murder; a murder that Jenny and Madame Vastra happened to be investigating this cold and dreary evening. It was all _very_ English.

Jenny would have preferred the tea and a book. Alas, duty called and here she was, serving wine at a dingy Inn while Madame Vastra waited in one of the rooms upstairs. Jenny was supposed to try and locate the accused murderer. Madame Vastra had been the one to spot him not a few hours earlier, but she would have a much more difficult time posing as a barwench then Jenny. Thus far the evening had proved not only fruitless but also _very_ frustrating. The men who were stuck inside drinking were in a livelier mood than usual, no doubt due to the news of death in the area. There was nothing like murder to churn men’s blood, Jenny noted sourly as another stray hand found her backside.

The table she was delivering the ale to was occupied by a single man, barely more than a boy. He had on shabby clothes and a dejected expression. His eyes were red, though she couldn’t be sure if he had cried yet or was still holding in the tears.

When she approached the table and set the drink down, he seemed to shake himself out of the funk he’d been sitting in, and glanced fleetingly up at her.

“O—oh, thankya, Miss.”

“Be havin’ anything else tonight?” She asked, because she was supposed to be polite. Besides, there was something about this one’s face that made her think just maybe he wasn’t one of the bad ones.

“No,” he replied with a sniff. “I don’t thin so.”

She nodded and had just turned around to walk back to the bar, keeping her eyes peeled for the murderer as she went, when the man muttered something else.

“Guess everyone else here’s drinkin’ cuz of Mr. Haversham’s murder, huh? Maybe I’m a bad person, drinkin’ for meself.”

He sniffed again and something about his tone made Jenny pause. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and he blinked up at her.

“May I ask what’s got you down?”

“Nothin’ like murder or anythin’. The girl I loved, the butcher’s daughter, she’s getting married tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied, and she sort of felt it. It could hurt when it felt like your affections weren’t returned…

“Have this drink on me, then.”

“Oh—Oh no I—“ he stammered nervously, avoiding her gaze as though suddenly overly conscious of her rather low-cut dress (not by any stretch of the imagination her idea, but it certainly sold her cover). “I would much rather your company, Miss.”

Jenny paused again, glanced round the boisterous room that would only get more out of control as the night went on. She looked over towards the stairs of the Inn where Madame Vastra was waiting for her word on the murderer. The idea of chatting with this lovelorn lad appealed much more to her than being manhandled by the very drunk for the rest of the evening. She could survey the pub for the murderer just as well from this little table.

She took a seat, much to the lad’s surprise, she reckoned, and politely offered,

“Tell me about this butcher’s daughter then.”

And so he did, shyly at first, but the lower the ale in his cup grew, the looser his tongue—and there was not much Jenny loved more than a loose tongue.

The butcher’s daughter, whose name turned out to be Molly, was very beautiful, according to the young lad who was in love with her. She had chestnut brown hair and a small nose, and lips that could drive a man up the wall. Though she thought a lot of it was exaggeration, near the end of the night Jenny agreed that Molly sounded like one of the most beautiful women in London, and it was a true tragedy that she was to be married off in such a way.

The young lad, who eventually (after the pub had filled up with every lecher off the streets) introduced himself as Paul, Paul Smitheson, went through several emotional changes as Jenny sat there with him. He was depressed for the most part, then violently angry at Molly’s father for arranging the marriage, then by the time the Inn started to calm down he was right set on getting over his lost love.

“I’m still young, eh?” he said sloppily. “Plenty out there for me. None like Molly, though. How about you, Jenny?”

“Me?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “What d’you mean?”

“Have you got anybody—anyone like my Molly?”

“Hmm,” Jenny mumbled, not really paying much attention. A man had come into the pub not long ago, ordered a single drink and was already half finished with it. He was keeping his hood up, so Jenny couldn’t get a good look at him. She took out a slip of paper from her barmaid pocket, on which was drawn a similarity of the murderer by Madame Vastra much earlier on in the evening. She bit her lip, trying to get a better look at the man. Paul seemed to notice that she wasn’t paying much attention to him, and look in the direction she was looking.

“Is he somethin’ to you?” he asked coyly, ducking his head towards the man at the bar.

“I think he might be the _murderer_ ,” she answered honestly, grinning at the frightened expression on Paul’s face at her words.

“The—the murderer? Not Mr. Haversham’s murderer? How do you know somethin’ like that?”

She ignored him, trying to inconspicuously look around a full table of chimney sweeps that had been there since dusk. Paul continued talking just behind her as though puzzling something out that only just seemed odd to him.

“Wait… I just thought—are you new ‘ere? I come down to this Inn round every week and I never seen you handin’ out drink before—“

“I’m under cover,” She replied. “Trying to catch a murderer! How d’you feel about helpin’? If you’re coming, then come on, he’s getting away!”

Jenny didn’t have time to go get Madame Vastra; the murderer had noticed her and was on the move. She grabbed at Paul’s sleeve and dragger her out of the pub along with her—after everything she’d heard tonight it seemed that what he needed was a wake up call!

They followed him carefully as he ducked into an alley just beside the Inn. Paul was shivering behind her, both from the cold and from fear.

“We—we’re going after a murderer. This is dangerous—we’ll be killed!”

“Not while I have this,” she replied, pulling out a long dagger from her boot, holding it tight in her small fist. It wasn’t nearly as elegant as a sword, but it would certainly get the job done.

They continued back into the alley; it was dark and the noise from the pub echoed against the stone walls. Jenny kept her guard up, knowing the man could attack from anywhere and it was her job to stop him, especially now that she’d brought Paul into it. It was a shame she hadn’t had time to get Madame Vastra—her mistress always loved a good chase.

Quite suddenly something struck her from behind. She reeled, folding against the wall as her head spun and she heard Paul scream from somewhere to her right. She righted herself with some effort, following Paul’s whimpers in the darkness, her eyes adjusting slowly—at an infuriatingly human pace—to the lack of light. She could just see an outline, two bodies, and one was _hooded_. She struck out, her dagger clipping something and she saw Paul being released and the murderer coming straight for her. She had her back to wall as he pressed into her, gripping her arm with the dagger tight in his fist, immobilizing it. She kicked, but felt no impact. The hand with the dagger was being pressed towards her. She fought, but his strength was greater and it was drawing closer, closer to her chest, when suddenly the pressure was released and she had control of her hand once more.

She didn’t even have to look to know it was Madame Vastra. She could hear the swish of her elegant cloak and dress, then the hiss she made when she preyed. It sent a tingling down Jenny’s spine.

Whatever it was that Madame Vastra did it was quick, and she was back on her feet at Jenny’s side.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” She asked impatiently, removing her hood. “I wish you would have gotten me! You could have been hurt!”

“Jenny!” Paul’s whimpering voice came from somewhere down the alley. He appeared, shaking and even more frightened than he seemed before. When he saw Jenny he relaxed—and then he looked to her side and saw Madame Vastra face.

“M—mo—m” he stuttered, backing up as far as he could against the wall. “Monster! There’s a monster there! Jenny get away!” He looked between the two of them, longer at Jenny and then appeared to screw up all his courage. He extended a hand towards Jenny, screaming shrilly,

“ _Jenny we’ve got to run! There’s a monster and it’s going to kill us! Come with me now!”_

Jenny smiled fondly, took Madame Vastra’s hand in hers and was led swiftly out of the dark alley, calling back over her shoulder as she went,

“Don’t worry, Paul! This’ll all be a dream in the mornin’!”

Jenny giggled at the look of confused shock on his face, nuzzled into her lover’s shoulder as the reptilian woman continued remonstrating her for not coming to get her immediately and bringing a civilian into danger, and dreamt of a pleasant evening in front of the fireplace with a cup of tea and maybe, if she was lucky, a kiss from the one she thought to be the most beautiful creature in all of the universe. 


End file.
